


Darkmoon Justice

by orphan_account



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Darkmoon Knightess gets it on with the Chosen Undead, F/M, Feminine Man, Gay, M/M, Male on Male, Non-Tentacle Gwyndolin, Pegging, SO GAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Chosen Undead has insulted the Darkmoon Prince. He has taken to challenging him and doing so without thought of repercussions. Such an insult would mean his death, but that was not good enough for Gwyndolin. The Chosen Undead had to be made an example of.His Covenant's loyal Knightess was perfect to help him enact it.Anonymous Commission from the Patreon!





	Darkmoon Justice

He was one of the children of the Lord of Cinder. He was the last to come from the man who stocked he age of Fire. He was one who was cursed by appearance, but blessed by power. He was one who had been given form of the moon, and feminine to match. Cursed with a voice that sounded fair and damned with a form that appeared more woman than man, he could not be shown to those who were loyal to his father and lord.  
  
But though he was all these things, blessed and forgotten, he was also the last deity to look over the magnificent fort of Anor Londo. His father’s tomb often in sight, even if his hollowed form was no at the First Cinder. Here he was and so monstrous to the undead that came through, so often attacked in kind. So often, too often, and too close to being the one who may strike down the Chosen Undead. Strong as he was, blessed with magic as he was, to snuff out the last hope in the Age of Fire was not for him to do.  
  
So Gwynevere, his fairer and more alluring sister, became the image they all saw. The woman with whom he knew deserved such adoration. A form as fair and beautiful as the setting sun she was named after, rising in appearance even if the fires of the world were waning. So grand and elegant that any who entered her chamber, undead without a heart to beat, still looked upon her in awe. And that fair sister of his looked down with such kindness in return.  
  
His fair sister, the beautiful princess that she was, and the illusion he had to make for them all to fall to. His sister was one of the many who fled Anor Londo long ago. He could not recall if it was after their father’s passing or before, where he was hollowed to make way for the connection of the flames. She had left as the world grew cold in darkness, but he did not. Perhaps she was frightened of a dark world no longer recognizing a sun, perhaps she wished to see father again, but he did not know.   
  
He only knew that she was capable of inspiring with body alone. Tall as the doors to the grand palace and alluring to even father’s court, but far beyond the reach of the undead who ventured to her, and he was well aware of it.  
  
Gwyndolin knew that no undead would dark match or harm his fair sister.  
  
Until he heard whispers in moonlight’s shadow that they were.  
  
An atrocity so great he formed a covenant for it. A fealty of the undead who ventured to him, harboring the flame of linking or not, and allowing them a token of his power should they protect the image of his fair sister. Be it love for the princess of the sun or respect for his own fealty, they often swore true.   
  
The Covenant of the Darkmoon was stronger for it.  
  
The darkness of the moon that never knew the light of the sun, but still adored its reach and strength. That was what he named his cult for, and it was what those who followed him practiced. So soon after he began to contract the undead, waiting for the Chosen to step through hallowed doors and to his sister’s court, he found one who adored his sister just as much, and near desperately asked to defend her and the keep.  
  
The Darkmoon Knightess, one of the few and most loyal of his covenant. An undead who saw the necessity for the world to live through Fire, no matter how smoldered the flames were. A firekeeper in Anor Londo, and one who took her task as seriously as the fate of the Age of Fire. He did not speak to her often, unkneeling to for one who knew of her duties, but respect was given often to one as strong and devout as her. The undead were fickle, as he had come to know, but she was not.  
  
Not for one who adored his sister, and spoke kindly and gracefully of her to all the Undead who ventured forth. Gwyndolin heard the tales of Gwynevere from the Darkmoon Knightess as he perched himself in the moon’s shadow, free of sight or fury of those nearby. He did not grow fonder of her as she spoke, for he was male despite his fair face, and she was undead, though not chosen at that. She was a loyal follower of his, and he was thankful for it.  
  
That thanks came to be of importance when the unthinkable occurred. When his sanctuary was invaded by an undead. An insult to be sure, a disgrace to the sight of the endless hall, though monstrous as he was, but far more in the consideration of _who_ had stepped forth into the bounds of his father’s tomb. Not just another Undead, resurrected with fire and warmth. Not just another lost soul, looking to be used for fuel.  
  
But _the Chosen_ _Undead_ the one he had waited for for so long, and he did not go see his fair and beautiful sister, mirage as though she was.  
  
The creature, the soulless one, came to him. And he did so without thought or care for consequence. Gwyndolin treated him as was appropriate. With _force_.  
  
The battle was not one of great lore or mythic retellings. It could not be Gwyndolin was one of magic and far sight, not battle and gore. Were he such, he would have done more for his father than merely guide and wait for salvation. Anor Londo would not have suffered such if he was capable of more. The Chosen Undead, however, was, as they were the one who was meant to reunite the world just as his father had. The battle was only drawn because he was divinity, and the Chosen Undead was already damned.  
  
But divinity meant perseverance, and damnation meant fatigue. Fatigue that took its toll on the Chosen Undead, leading his encumbered body to finally fall after many strikes and blasts of his magic. Enough to rend the armor from his body, to beat away the metal that protected him, and reduce the heavy shield he bore to crumbled metal at his feet. It was appropriate.  
  
In the endless hallway, Gwyndolin stood a distance away from the Chosen Undead, watching them cling to life and desperate to be reborn. Were he another mindless monster, the many roaming the halls, he would have been killed. An act that would have robbed him of many items he now possessed, many more souls he had collected, but ultimately to be recovered through his fate. A fate to rekindle the First Flame, to link it, and perhaps to do far more.  
  
But Gwyndolin could not allow that. Not yet.  
  
He could not allow a Chosen Undead who thought it wise to attack him to go near the First Flame. His father’s hollow lurked there still, and to scorn his father’s sacrifice with the body of another, who knew _nothing_ of respect, could very well taint the flames. It would be blasphemy to all that he as the final lord of Anor Londo upheld.  
  
There was to be a price to pay, but death could not be it, for it would not be a heavy enough price for the Chosen Undead.   
  
Not for one who though death trivial at best. But he was Gwyndolin, one who was wise in his craft and magic. He knew of other ways to torture and even more to persuade. So grand was the rewards for the carrot that one often forgot the use for the stick. But he was not one of those individuals. He had both means and purpose for it. And, more importantly, he had plans.  
  
“Begone from here, vile undead.” He condemning words were given to the Chosen Undead, moments before ridding the Endless Corridor of the being. He was alone again, but where he had to be. For the next task for the stick to be swung was for another to use what was necessary. “Knightess, heed my words.” His magic made his voice fly.  
  
He could sense her, one of the first of his covenant and still the most loyal, nearly instantly fall to bended knee at his demand. He did not smile or revel in it, knowing that time was of the essence, and the Chosen could not flee.  
  
“One has attempted to harm me. The same has misspoken the name of Gwynevere.” She was silent in return, but even halls away he could feel her anger. Perhaps it was a match for his own. “Capture this undead, prepare him the stocks of the dungeon. Do not give him the release of death.” Her resolution to his commands were just as absolute.  
  
Time passed as he expected. No quicker nor slower. The flow of the world would not change for the heresy of a single Undead, no matter how cruel and misshapen their deeds were. He had waited for many years before, and he was confident that his Knightess would not keep him much longer.  
  
“My lord, I have captured him,” the reply came as he expected. He was satisfied with her work, as was appropriate. “He is bound in stocks as you requested, and struggles to free himself. My I behead him now.” But unfortunately, she did not see his plans as he did.  
  
“Not yet.” The firm reply was made as he listened for her, watching from shadows into the dungeon he ruled, like all of Anor Londo in his father’s steed. “First, strip him of his possessions and armor. Bare him to the world as he wished to bare Gwynevere. Once he is as such, then I will tell you more.” The Knightess offered no question to his commands. One of the mightier and most loyal members of his covenant.  
  
From the shadows of the city, in the depths of the dungeon, he watched her bare the Chosen Undead, taking his armor off an showing the man beneath. A man indeed, though still one who had returned from his demise. His hands shook in the stocks, but the Knightess was bothered little by it, the same as Gwyndolin. He continued to watch as the man was stripped of his possessions easily, neatly, and until he was bare to the cold stone room.  
  
His feet grinding into the wet stone beneath him, bent over for his body to accommodate the position of the stocks, and ass presented outwards like the grand prize for all his arrogance. Gwyndolin knew the possession was humiliating, and was accepting of the it. It needed to be taken further, however, for it to be… impactful.  
  
“Knightess,” he spoke his Covenant member’s name again. “The Undead, I fear, has not admiration for the form of my sister, but lust instead.” Even beneath her helm, Gwyndolin could fear her ire grow. “For him to have such thoughts means he has not felt nor wished to feel the pain of being thought of in such a way. To amend this, and to ensure the flames are not extinguished, I ask of you to pay the man in kind what he wished to do to my sibling.” Her helm nodded in return to his request, and that was enough for the Dark Sun.  
  
He let his mind return to him, gone from the dungeon The Chosen Undead was shackled to and the Knightess who would make him endure all the while. He would let the knightess move first on him, to punish the Chosen Undead.  
  
Then he would make his move, and shown the blasphemous man to not trifle with the Lord of Anor Londo. 

* * *

  
Her lord’s words gone, The Knightess looked down on the Undead before her, stripped of his heavy armor and left with nothing but the soul he had used to give his burned body new form. Far from the handsome or enduring knight she imagined one capable of entering Anor Londo to be, but still just as distant from the monsters who roamed the empty city.   
  
Though she did not care for flesh in a manner befitting matting, not anymore, she at least was thankful still that the undead she was disciplining had some semblance of humanity about him. However, perhaps it was that sense of loss and regain that made him believe he was worthy of fucking a deity, raising the most unholy of blades against her. Master Gwyndolin was right to put him here.  
  
It worried her a bit how alike her master this Undead was. Appearing fair in appearance, even if the shape of his muscles were undeniable. More akin to her than a monster, would be a fair description.   
  
Stuck in stocks, held up like a fool, and made bare like a whore. He was all of these things, and by her lord’s charge, it was her duty to make him realize his folly. Perhaps then he could act as a proper Undead and, if the wisdom was put in him, better phrase notwithstanding, then even a fellow Blade like herself.  
  
Perhaps, but wishful thinking did little when action was required.  
  
“You have angered the wrong lords of Anor Londo,” the Knightess began to speak first, armor chinking as she walked around him, towards the table with the many tools by it. “Though the gods and high rules who once walked this land are gone, you were beyond foolish to believe that you could strike at those who were above you, and with no better reason then curiosity and lust as your guide.”   
  
The muffled sounds of a cry came from the Undead, face one of anger. She bore it, uncaring towards the mask put on her. She had one of her own. Then again, it would be hard to work if she kept it on. Besides, in these dungeons of her lord, perhaps it would be okay to bare herself. The Knightess knew she would not be weakened in kind as well.   
  
Her helm was unclasped and put on the table with little ceremony, gauntlets and pauldrons doing much the same. Heavy copper armor resting neatly as her skin felt the air for the first time in many moons, and savoring the feeling. Auburn hair fell behind her as she reached back and unclasped her chassis, letting it fall forward and into her hand.  
  
Bare breasts spilled forth as she did so, and she cared little that a lustful man was likely going to be staring at them. He was bound and she was protected by her lord. Though… it did raise an idea in her mind. Binding his body was a fine task, but there was something _far_ more important to bind as well.  
  
The Knightess reached across the table and grasped the item of her choosing, a simple metal cage fit more for two of her fingers to fit into, only a bit of room at the base, and hardly more than that. Small by any measure, and a fine fit for the Undead behind her.   
  
“Perhaps I cannot leave you in a cage, as you are keen to escape from them,” she spoke to the Undead, knowing enough of his tale. She ignored his angered look as she approached his side, kneeling down and staring at the cock he wanted to use to fuck Gwynevere with. How unsightly.  
  
It was what she wished to think. But the cock was ginormous to say little of it. Perhaps it was reason enough for him to think he could fuck a goddess with such a thing, as it made even the Knightess take a moment to wonder how he had hidden such a tool in his armor and pants. Good fortune her lord had assisted her in taming this Undead.  
  
Her hand was held up to it, marveling at how, even slack, it was the length of palm to edge of her fingers. Long, and she knew men who became Undead _grew_ much. Perhaps even large enough to be mistaken for a blade. One that he would have used to pierce divinity.  
  
_Click!_ It was a good thing she had a _sheath_ for such an offensive _blade_.  
  
The harsh grunt came as she fashioned the small cage over the mis-sized cock, forcing its length to conform to the steel. Strong and large as the bestial endowment was, bending the work of metal, forged in bonfire’s flame, was not going to happen. Instead, she was able to listen to the Undead squirm and buck a _nothing_ with his cock held by… _a less savoring_ grasp.  
  
“A cage of chastity, for one who has no sense of it,” the Knightess spoke easily to the Undead, who’s glare was turned on her, caught and bound as he was. His hands as fists pulled at the stocks, but succeeded in only getting them to rock. Nothing was breaking today. Nothing but his bent spirit. “You cannot have the release you desire, not if you are one who attempts to envy that beyond you.” She drew back her hand with the words.  
  
_SMACK!_ And bore it down on his naked ass. The high whine that left his lips was _most_ emasculate, but a proving point for the Knightess nevertheless. He _enjoyed _it. But that was also a stroke against her luck.   
  
If he was enjoying the assault, then he would seek it again. Against himself or Gwynevere. Either would a horrid consequence, and one the Knightess knew she needed to change.   
  
He did not break as she needed him to. His will had to break as the many other Undead had before. She needed to break it for her lord to forge it.  
  
“You did much to insult my lord and his sister, and now it is up to I to correct your horrendous behavior.” The Knightess spoke on as she walked back to the table, undoing the belt at her greaves, loosening them. Her boots were nearly kicked off as she walked, letting the skin of her leg’s breath as well as her toes. Her stride skipped only a _wisp_ as the cool air hit her bare pussy. “Lusting after one when my lord did so much to keep her from such ire. Guarded in the high tower and free of monsters, only for you to approach her as if you see her as one.”  
  
She as bare as he was now, but far from as vulnerable. He was a caged beast, and she was a Darkmoon Knightess with weapons at her disposal and tools to use. And, by her lord’s request, it would be the tools of the dungeon that would be fitted to the man.  
  
And one such she grasped, made of steel that was cool to the touch and heavy in her hand, was as long as the cock she had seen and, without debate, harder. Fitted to a belt that squirmed around her waist, matched with a bead to fit in her own snatch. It was the perfect tool to humiliate an Undead who thought themselves above the Lord.  
  
_“Ah~_” the Knightess put it on, feeling the fixating point slip into her snatch. She bit her lip, knowing that the end going into the blasphemous Undead would be _far_ heavier to bare. A slow stream of liquid seeped into the metal, a gift from her lord, making it slick to the touch as it protruded from her cunt. It was an intimidating sight for her.  
  
But a glance at the Undead behind her told of how much more he feared it. It did nothing to the Knightess but excite her. How could a cock not be to a bound man?  
  
Her steps were slow as she walked around the man, letting a hand run down his back as she reached his ass. It was muscled, as she expected of one who could bear his armor, but little more than that. She stood behind it with hands clasping just above the waist, gripping his skin with her own smooth flesh.   
  
“You wished to defile a goddess~,” she spoke simply as she lined up the fake cock on her crotch. “Then allow me to show you a _maiden’s pain_.” She drove forward with her words.  
  
_SLAP!_ And a whine of effeminate pleasure cascaded across the stone halls. The Knightess almost thought it her own until she saw the Undead’s shivering back. Muscled as it was, it the fair skin still _rippled_ with sweat, coursing down his skin. She breathed heavily at the sight. _Slap! SLAP! SLAP!_ And her thrusts grew quicker and faster in number.   
  
“_Uh~ Uh~ UH~_,” came the harsh breath from her voice, auburn hair waving as she continued to peg the asshole of the undead. Her hips, bare and free of the armor she perpetually wore, clapping against his cheeks as the fake cock she wore beat into his anus. The muffled sounds of discomfort and pain were only encouragement to her.  
  
Her hands _gripped_ his hips harder, feeling the muscles beneath the thin layer of skin, and continued to beat at him with all her force. The stock he was bound in shook with each hit, making her wonder if his arms or back would break with the force she was fucking him with. If not then, then perhaps his hips would give out all at once and shatter as she drove in _deeper_. She nearly laughed at the idea.  
  
Fucking an Undead to literal death. The Covenant would herald the act as one of absolute viciousness and necessity.  
  
“Punishment for going against the Blades of the Darkmoon is a severe one, undead,” she listed as she stopped her thrusting for a moment, keeping the extended cock hilted and far reaching into the anus of the Undead beneath her. His moans were filled with need and pain, and she lavished in it. Her grin may not have been becoming, but she allowed herself to wear it for a time. It was certainly better than accidentally killing him and foregoing her lord’s wishes. “I do not know why you have been selected for this more punishing situation, but I believe it because of your lack of control. An auspicious meeting with divinity, and you were felled by a carnal lust that cannot be allowed to stain the Fire Bonfire, not if we wish for the Age of Fire to continue.”  
  
_SLAP!_ She fucked him again, making the stocks rock with the effort. He groaned again, head thrashing just ahead of her. A part of the Knightess wanted to reach out and grasp it, pull it back and stare into his eyes as she continued to rail him, but that was a difficult position, unfortunately. He was a bit taller than her, and she was already pushing his hips down to fuck him properly. In and out and leaving a trail of slime across the fake cock she had.  
  
_POP!_ She pulled out enough for the cock head to free itself, looking at the fruits of her labors so far. She was not disappointed to see the anus opened and bare, leaking juices either of pleasure or pain. It was so difficult to tell, gag in his mouth and facing away from her, but the way his legs shook made her own pussy clench nevertheless. She did not find as much joy as killing for her lord, but there was a carnal sense of _fulfillment_ from this nevertheless.  
  
Her mind raced as she undid the bonds of stocks, letting the heavy steel locks fall clatteringly to the floor and releasing the Undead. He did not jump at her as she expected a warrior to do. Rather far from the opposite.   
  
He _fell_ to the ground, turning over and showing her his underside, panting lips across his near feminine face, and with hands squirming at his crotch. He humped uselessly into the air, seeking a release that the Knightess wasn’t allowing him to have. She grinned down at him, cock still lubricated through her lord’s magic, as she bore down on him. His face was flushed through it all.  
  
“Rather eager for abuse, are we?” She questioned, stepping around him, always far enough away to kick if necessary. But he didn’t reach for her, never jumped at her. Rather, his eyes only stared up at her, lost and filled with a lust as thick as the misty doors. She let it fall over her. “Is that little cage holding back the real man?” She reached out her foot and tapped the chastity belt over his cock.  
  
He didn’t make a repeatable sound, but the groan from him was, again, more akin to her own voice. It made her legs shiver as she heard it, grinning down at him and letting her toes trace over the thin metal cage. He squirmed at the approach, fighting himself to either protect himself from her, or _bare even more_.  
  
“I may release you from those confines,” she luridly spoke, earning his immediate attention, flushed with arousal as it was. But only if you can show me you _want_ to be free. If he was as drowned in his pleasures as he appeared to be, then perhaps he would understand what she meant.  
  
Namely was she lifted a foot at place it aside is head, leaving it there atop the cool brick and mortar of stone. She could feel the heat billowing off of him, so hot and strong from the fucking she had given him. The Knightess almost expected him to die there, against her master’s orders.  
  
But instead, as she wished, he turned his head and began to lick at her feet. She bit her lips to hide the coo of satisfaction from slipping out.  
  
His tongue, wet from panting and moans, licked and roved across the tops of her feet, licking at the beads of sweat that had collected upon her as she had abused him. Kissing at her toes and drawing her tongue up and down her length as she stood above him. She could feel lips, fair as the skin she had gripped and fucked, tickling her as she did so. Her grin was tight, but her pleasure _growing. _  
  
The Knightess’s hands settled to her thighs as she bore down on the Undead who had _dared_ to challenge her lord and wish harm upon his sister. An Undead who had come in with fine armor and skill, not bared and caught in chastity cage as he slathered her feet with slobber and care. Truly this was the place for such a man, worshipping her feet.  
  
“Very… good…” she carefully put out, raising her foot up. His mouth traced her, but he drew back with a grimace as his cock twitched. Well, what little it could in that little cage. She grinned again, even if the cool sensation of the air was even more chilling on her now soaked feet. “Perhaps now you may have a bit of reward.” She spoke the words as she unclasped the belt at her hips, releasing the cock with a small drop.  
  
She fell soon herself, until she was kneeling on either side of the Undead. She grabbed at the cage at his cock, easily producing the key to it, one she had hidden on her naked person. One gathered many skills working for the Darkmoon Lord, and this Undead had assumed falsely he was above them. And now, he was falling prey to them.  
  
_FWIP!_ Even if releasing the cage made the Knightess doubt herself for a moment.  
  
The speed at which the cock unfolded from the cage was almost _worrying_ to her. Like a drawn blade, nearly as sharp, and hotter then coming out of the forge. It was just between her legs, shadowing over the fair Undead it belonged to. Such womanly features holding such a masculine beast, perhaps he had put all of his strength into the wrong part of his body. It certainly put little to his mind.  
  
The Knightess bit her lip as she put her own lips against the top of the cock, groaning at its heat. Her voice was mixed with his for that moment, complete with her holding her position above the, the Undead weak to her commands. He was fractured, but not _broken_. Not yet.   
  
“_Oh… yes~_,” the Knightess slowly let out, putting hands to the bare chest of the Undead, letting her pussy _clench_ at the cock that had been encaged throughout her fucking. It was hard as the steel she had fucked him with, but _so_ much warmer. Perhaps even a challenge for a bonfire, as she felt rather invigorated by its heat. “_Perhaps_ I misjudged you, Undead,” the Knightess spoke lightly, hardly meaning the words that slipped through her mouth. Lies were not befitting a member of the Darkmoon Covenant. “Perhaps all you wished to do with this tool of yours was warm Gwynevere’s _throne_. You certainly are giving my chambers a new sense of peace.” She lifted her hips until she felt the head of the cock at the edge of her pussy.  
  
_SLAP!_ Then she dropped herself down.  
  
She though another had attacked Gwynevere at that moment, given how quickly her eyes saw black. They returned with sparking thunder sharper and faster than flames, and ruling her body for an ungodly strong moment. Her toes curled as she was nearly _stuck_ on the cock in her, and made into a thing on its length. She fought against it what she could, but realizing now that the Undead had tricked her in some way, he had to of. If he had the gall to attack Gwyndolin then… then perhaps he had magic as well.  
  
Letting himself be pegged, letting her fuck his ass, and then licking her feet like the wanton whore he looked so much to be… it didn’t fit the man who made her cum with a cock in her pussy alone. Even if he was moaning like she was. It almost hurt her pride at that, especially with how her cunt, strong as an arm, wouldn’t release it so easily.  
  
If she wasn’t stuck, then her body was _greedily_ holding it in. And though pain was something she was used to, the Knightess was unaccustomed to _this_ amount of pleasure.  
  
“Enjoying ourselves, Knightess?” But her Lord’s voice gave her strength, at the cost of her terrified soul.  
  
Her legs regained _all_ the strength they could to lift her off of the cock, spinning her around with orgasm still rolling, to kneel naked and bare at the feet of Lord Gwyndolin. The fair god of Anor Londo towering over her, and looking down at her with a sight she couldn’t describe.   
  
Gowned in white like his sister’s sun, glowing with the strength only the moon could mirror, and hallowed far above these unworthy walls. She was small beneath him, and she bowed even in her humiliated state.  
  
“You appear to have entertained him as I requested, and made him needing of care.” She did, just as asked of her. The Knightess could not discount it. “I would like to know of this pleasure as well. Show me.” Her terrified mind thought for a moment he meant for her to fuck her, something akin to blasphemy in any tongue.  
  
Instead, he pulled back the ends of his alabaster robe, showing her the pale feet beneath. The Knightess understood in a moment. It did not matter if it was the same thing, she made the Undead do only minutes before. It didn’t matter if it appeared almost wrong to be doing it in such a shameful state. The Knightess could not ignore her commands.  
  
So, on her knees, legs shivering from the orgasm the Undead had brought her to, she began to lick her lord’s feet.   
  
Beneath the shawl he wore, a purest white in the darkest of dungeons, she lathered his toes and feet with her tongue, kissing at him when she needed to wet her tongue and draw breath, never taking her lips away from him. She savored all that she tasted, worshipping his every patch of skin, as was what was deserved for one like her.  
  
A fair face of the Darkmoon Prince looked down upon her as she worked, and she was taking it as the highest sign of gratitude, being worthy of his attention while she pleasured his soles. If he would have asked her to do this for the night, she would have done so without question. Her mouth and tongue had no better place to be than at her lord’s feet.  
  
“You are skilled, Knightess,” he _complimented _her, and the orgasm she had been fucked to nearly rolled through her again. “I was right to send you to punish this Undead for is misdeeds. A fine display.” She slowly drew her tongue up his foot, stopping when she reached the hump of his ankle.  
  
“You are most welcome, Master Gwyndolin,” she responded, naked and bear with sex juices staining both ends of her lips. It was a shameful sight to show, without question, but even more so to try and cover up in front of him. “It was my humble pleasure to enact the swift vengeance necessary against him.” Even if he had enjoyed some measure of it, it could not be overstated how she was the one in control, until her master arrived. No one could be above him.   
  
“Indeed so,” her lord spoke, stepping past her. She did not raise eyes as he did so, listening to him almost ghost across the floor. The Knightess kept herself facing forward as she heard him step to the Undead, perhaps prepared to slay him now. “And it is why now I may enjoy him.” The words shocked her, but she kept her head low.  
  
_“GUH~!_” the ill-fitting feminine cry, however, was enough to make her twist her head.  
  
She knew her lord was fair and mistaken for the moon, his sister the only counter to his otherwise womanly form, but the strength in which he held up the undead, pushing his cock into the anus she had used with such ease, was a testament to his power. And if not then, then how the cock she saw _dwarfed_ the one belonging to the undead.  
  
It pistoned like a flame in a banister in and out of the Undead’s rectum, slapping balls against the sack of the other man, turning the Undead she had used into a hollow with a soul. She watched the fair face twist and writhe, a grin pulling at his features, even as the cock in his anus pulled at his insides. The crossed gaze was matched only by the lurid stare of her lord, neve ceasing to beat his cock in and out of the ring.  
  
“For one daring to challenge me and my sister, this is a fair place for you now,” her master’s soothing voice spoken, even as his hips easily clapped and clashed against the Undead’s. Heated panting and breaths were the only response given, and matched by the Lord of Anor Londo chuckling at the display. “Enjoy yourself, Chosen Undead, for you are soon to be a member of my Covenant.”  
  
As if the words were a spell the Knightess did not know, the Undead came.  
  
Off that might cock, seed _flew_ into the air and left a musky trail behind it. The Knightess could not shield her face fast enough to keep the cum from hitting her, staining portions of her hair, and breasts, feeling like magma almost with its volume and temp. It hit her nose and mouth, making her gag on it, but not nearly as much as she thought.  
  
She could still only stare up at her lord as he held the Undead, the _Chosen Undead_ like a finger’s ring on his cock.  
  
“Gaze kindly, Knightess,” her lord spoke down to her. “You have trained this one well in so short a time. I leave the remainder of his training, and any _punishments_ that may follow, to your capable hands.” The Knightess nodded unquestioningly.   
  
She was right from the start. Her Lord was kind and just.


End file.
